


Aztec Chocolate

by Tesserae



Category: SGA - Fandom
Genre: Chocolate, Established Relationship, Food Porn, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-17
Updated: 2010-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-06 09:23:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tesserae/pseuds/Tesserae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Rodney?" John asked again, manfully suppressing a grin. "Your fondue of the month club double-ship you?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aztec Chocolate

**Author's Note:**

> For the Porn It Forward challenge, from a prompt by [](http://z-rayne.livejournal.com/profile)[**z_rayne**](http://z-rayne.livejournal.com/). This was meant to be shorter and a bit, well, _stickier_.

JPL let everyone go home early on Christmas Eve, and John Sheppard was entirely pleased by everything about this policy: happy to tell his assistants to go home to their families, happy to be going home himself, happy to be working somewhere that even _had_ leaving-early-for-holidays policies. Most of all, though, he was happy to be going home bearing brownies on a Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer plate, his big win at the office potluck.

He slipped his key in the door and pushed it open, thinking that Rodney was going to love the –

"Rodney?" The smell of chocolate was overwhelming in the entryway and orders-of-magnitude stronger in the kitchen. "I brought you -- Rodney?"

"Yes, _what_, thank god you're home!" Dr. Rodney McKay, noted astrophysicist and scourge of graduate students on several continents, stood in the middle of his kitchen, looking chastened. He was surrounded by more chocolate than John had ever seen in his life, bowls of it, pots of it, _trays_ of it, in chunks and piles and little balls, with a fair amount seemingly reserved for dripping down the front of the stove.

"Rodney?" John asked again, manfully suppressing a grin. "Your fondue of the month club double-ship you?"

"My what? We don't have – wait, there's a fondue of the month club?"

Surreptitiously, John slid the plate of brownies onto the top of the fridge and looked sternly at Rodney. "Not any more there isn't. What the _hell_ is going on here?"

"Oh, god," Rodney moaned. "It's a long story that I think I will never, ever, tell you. Suffice it to say it's _obviously_ true that women in general and that damned Martha Stewart in particular have _no_ spatial ability _whatsoever_."

"Spatial ability?"

"Do you know how many truffles _five pounds_ of Valrhona chocolate – the good stuff, I might add, 70% cacao and I had to drive out to the _fucking_ Westside and it's 30 degrees today ---"

"Nah, it's much warmer than that –"

"_Celsius_, you idiot, the stuff nearly melted in the car on the way back and _I'm only halfway through the damn chocolate!_" Rodney flung his arms out to illustrate his point and clipped one of the precariously-stacked piles of cookie sheets. It started to slide and John jumped for it, blocking the trays with his hip – a move that would have been successful had one foot not come down into the puddle of chocolate at the base of the stove.

Years of military training kicked in as he started to slide, and he was feeling quite pleased with himself when he landed without twisting an ankle or cracking his tailbone. Prepared to be magnanimous, even from the floor, he looked up at Rodney, whose eyes were fixed above his head with an expression of Wraith-level horror.

John only had time to close his eyes and duck his head before three bright pink cookie sheets and some six dozen tiny balls of chocolate landed in his lap. A moment later, a thump, a groan, and another thump that sounded like the back of someone's head hitting the front of the stove meant that Rodney had joined him and the little chocolate balls on the floor.

"Rodney?" he said, opening his eyes. "You're gonna get chocolate in your hair if you keep doing that."

Rodney dropped his head into his hands. "I never want to see chocolate again," he said, sounding beaten. "Ever."

John picked up of one of the dusty-looking balls and checked it to be sure that the dust wasn't cat hair. "These are truffles?"

"Truffles, yes."

"What kind?"

"What do you mean, _what kind_? Chocolate ones!" Rodney opened his eyes and glared at John, but there was no heat in it until John licked his lips, opened his mouth, and bit the truffle in half.

Chocolate. Dark, bittersweet Valrhona chocolate, deep and powerful and flavored with an undercurrent of spice and cinnamon, and John Sheppard closed his eyes and _moaned_.

"Oh my god, Rodney, have you _tried_ these?"

"No, I was waiting for –" Rodney stopped abruptly when John placed the rest of the truffle on his tongue and closed his jaw with one long finger.

"Eat," John commanded. Rodney bit down, and John could see the moment the taste of the chocolate registered, because Rodney went completely still and his eyes started to darken the way they did when John hit the sweet spot on the underside of his cock. And because that thought did interesting things to _John's_ cock, when Rodney opened his mouth, he slipped another truffle inside it, and thought about Rodney's tongue.

This time, Rodney closed his eyes and let his head fall back into the chocolate on the stove, so that when he was done swallowing, and John could finally take Rodney's face in his hands and follow the second truffle with his own mouth, all he could smell and taste and feel was chocolate. He deepened the kiss, tasting cocoa powder and something dark and smoky, some fiery spice he couldn't identify, and Rodney beneath it all, but mostly: chocolate. And as Rodney moaned into his mouth and brought his own, slightly sticky hands up to thread into John's hair, pulling him closer, John reached out blindly and grabbed another of the truffles and slid it into Rodney's mouth.

Rodney opened his eyes at that and pulled back slightly to grab John's wrist. Eyes dark, he gave John a look that was equal parts desire and mischief, and sucked John's fingers into his mouth along with the truffle. Rolling the chocolate against the roof of his mouth, cheeks hollowing, he set a rhythmic pace against the tip of John's index finger, and John slid the rest of the way onto the floor in a happy puddle of lust.

Rodney shifted them both around until he was kneeling between John's thighs. He reached for John's zipper, drawing it carefully down over his erection. John lifted his hips so that Rodney could slide his pants and boxers down, and then propped himself on his elbows, anticipating the touch of Rodney's lips, the swirl of that talented tongue around the head of his cock. He rolled his hips and tried not to whine. Rodney, though, seemed to have something else on his mind: as John watched, he sat back on his heels and snapped his fingers, and reached for something on the counter.

It was a bowl, a small white one, and when Rodney swirled one blunt finger through its contents and held it up, grinning crookedly, and started to drip warm, dark, cinnamon-scented chocolate onto John's cock, John put his head back onto a pile of silicon bakeware and gave up. He was never going to be able to walk into See's Candies again, never going to be able to eat birthday cake or win office brownies or –

"Rodney!" he said, sitting up. Rodney, surprised, dropped the bowl of chocolate onto John's stomach.

"What?" he demanded. "Is it too – ohh!" Rodney clapped a hand over his own mouth and turned a furious red. John narrowed his eyes.

"You planned this!" he accused.

Rodney nodded, looking defiant. "Well, not the part about the --" he waved at the floor, at the truly apocalyptic mess made by six dozen chocolate truffles (minus a couple, John thought) and an entire bowl of the stuff in liquid form. "Just the part about the –" another handwave, this time toward John's flagging erection.

John poked a finger into the pool of chocolate on his bare stomach. It was still warm, but cooling rapidly where it had started to drip down and harden on his sides. He pulled his t-shirt away from the worst of it and dabbed at the mess. "You got any bright ideas about how we should get me into the shower without tracking chocolate all over the house?" he asked, a bit peevishly. Rodney didn't say anything, and when John looked up, his eyes were fixed on a drop of chocolate making its way directly toward John's dick. When he spoke, his voice was rough.

"Oh, several," Rodney murmured. "Lie back down, why don't you?"

(end)


End file.
